


Redemption Road

by StarsGarters



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Boy Band, M/M, Road Trips, no Hydra
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-11
Updated: 2015-05-06
Packaged: 2018-03-29 06:38:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3886123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarsGarters/pseuds/StarsGarters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brock Rumlow is a member of a man-boy band called STRIKE.  Steve Rogers is in art school debt up to his eyeballs, working as an orderly in a memory care ward and Sam Wilson offers him the job of babysitting this puffed up mediocre singer with perfect abs and cockatoo hair. </p><p>He doesn’t have to like the guy, but Steve’s only human…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Redemption Road

 

"What the star spangled hell are you wearing?" Sam Wilson looked Steve Rogers up and down. "You look like a porno version of Uncle Sam." Sam was dressed as Al Capone, decked out in a sharp suit and fedora. His molls were playing Jenga next to the punchbowl. The music thumped and more people arrived by the minute. "You're kidding me, right?" 

Steve discreetly tugged his flag print stars and stripes booty shorts out of his ass crack and fluffed his long white beard. "You said the theme was Slut-o-ween. I figured, why let the girls have all the fun?" He snapped his suspenders. "Anyway, I had the costume from the voters' registration thing at Pride, so why not?" Steve had had a little too much to drink. What the hell, right? It wasn't every night that he got to play dress up. The ab glitter might have been a bit over the top.

Sam shook his head, "Alright man. It's your wedgie. I like the glitter, but that shit gets everywhere. You're gonna be picking that out of your taint for a month." 

"You speak like you know from experience, Sam."

Sam shrugged, "A gentleman tells nothing of what went on at Theta Lambda Phi during Hell Week." 

Steve rolled his eyes, "I think I slept on the commons couch more than in my room that week." 

"I superglued the signal sock to the door handle." Sam smirked, "You snore and I needed my beauty sleep."

"You clever bastard." 

A low appreciative whistle cut through the house beats. "I suddenly feel the urge to vote, sign up for the Army and possibly run for office. All tingly. Is that the patriotism or the sangria?" A man dressed as the Charlie Brown ghost laughed. He was obviously as scantily clad as Steve was under that white sheet. The holes doubled more as ab and ass windows than anything the Great Pumpkin would have approved of. One bright eye gave Steve the once over and crinkled in an undercover smile. 

Steve grinned and tossed back a cup of dangerous punch. "I've misplaced my bald eagle and my apple pie." His face was flushed, "Am I blushing? I am, aren't I? Soon I'll be red all over. Like a newspaper." Steven goofily smiled at his terrible joke.

"Steve, this is--" Sam started to introduce the ghost, but the man shook his head under the sheet. "Charlie Brown." The ghost stuck out a buff arm through a hole and Steve shook it. "Steve's my old college roomie. Charlie is one of my Uncle Rhody's-- pet projects. Don't do anything I wouldn't do, man." He said to Steve, saluting his booty shorts.

"I think we both know that I do everything that you wouldn't do, Sam." Steve laughed, still holding onto the ghost's hand. Sam went to mingle with more pretty girls and Steve said, "I think someone mixed paint thinner in with that sangria. Wanna get some air?" The ghost nodded and Steve led his spooky acquaintance out onto the balcony. The cooler air felt good against Steve's skin.

"Not a fan of parties?" The ghost asked as he finally dropped Steve's hand.

"I get a little spooked in crowds, nothing big." Steve leaned against the balcony, posing a little bit. Why not? He looked damn good. Not that you'd know under his orderly scrubs, but he had to keep in shape to help the geriatrics in the memory care ward. They were surprisingly spry and strong.  

"I hear you. You never get used to it, it all sort of blends together in a big blur of chaos and sound." Steve raised an eyebrow and his ghost clarified, "I kinda perform."

"I figured that if you're one of Rhody's projects that you'd be a musician. He's got a good ear for talent, maybe you'll make it big." The ghost shrugged under his sheet and Steve hooked his finger on a hole in the cotton sheet. "Why this costume?"

"It's a classic, isn't it? All the holes," he pointed at his rippling abs, "Make it breezy too. All this easy access." He took Steve's hand and ran it up under the cotton sheet, Steve caught his breath and made a small whimper at what his fingers danced over. 

"Are you wearing anything under that?" Steve asked, suddenly breathless, his shorts felt even tighter and smaller.

"Would you like to find out?" Charlie cheekily replied, "I wouldn't mind saluting your shorts for a few minutes..." He pulled down the fake beard and ran his thumb over Steve's pink lips. "You've got a mouth built for sin, don't you?" All Steve could see was that one bright eye, full of mischief and promise. "But I think I can make you sing..." 

It was a bit of a blur how they ended up in Sam's bathroom, Steve crammed up against the wall, his sweaty skin leaving prints on the mirror. His cock was in the ghost's clever mouth, threaded through a hole in the sheet. There was glitter on his lips from the trail of kisses down Steve's stomach. Steve had tried to take the costume off, but Charlie had refused. "I like the way you look at me when you don't know who I am," he cryptically purred against Steve's skin. If Steve had been a trifle less intoxicated, that would have been a deal-breaker. He keened a wordless cry as the man pumped his cock with a tight fist, then slathered his cockhead with spit until Steve came in a splatter all over the white sheet. 

"I-- I think we can get that out-- with some club soda." Steve breathlessly panted. "Can I-- can I _help_ you out? We could get some breakfast?" 

His partner slapped him on the ass fondly. "Don't worry 'bout it. I've got to catch a flight in the morning, so I can't stay." He stood up and kissed Steve on the cheek. "God bless America." He winked with that one hazel eye and Steve swallowed hard.

"You've got glitter in your teeth," Steve said weakly as he pulled up his shorts.

His ghost looked in the mirror over Steve's shoulder, bared his teeth. "Huh. So, I do. Damn stuff gets everywhere. See ya around, Uncle Sam." And then he was gone.

Steve sat on the toilet for a while until someone pounded on the door. He startled and meekly apologized to the drunk lady dressed as Cleopatra as he exited. He sat down on the couch and stared out at the pool. 

"Where's your ghost?" Sam asked him as he leaned over the couch, "You look wrecked dude."

"I don't know. He left. He didn't even tell me his name..."

Sam shrugged, "Do you want to know?"

Steve shook his head, "Nah. He seemed to value his privacy." Too bad he didn't want an encore. Steve was quite good, so the men of the water polo team said... "Is there any sangria left?" Sam clapped him on the shoulder and went to get him a cup. Just a crazy Halloween, that's all it was. Steve looked at his hands, there was glitter in his fingernails. He touched his lips and wondered about what could have been until he drowned his regrets in sangria.   

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
